


line dancing

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Bars and Pubs, Dancing, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips, Snark, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: There weren’t enough goofs in her life. Most of the men were assholes or they were Shadow, who was both stifling and far too good for her, not the sort of people she wanted to hang out with. And sure, Sweeney was an asshole, too, but it was different with him. It was a relief, at least, that she didn’t think he was stifling or particularly worthy of her attentions. It somehow made it easier for her to give them to him, to want to give them to him.





	line dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/gifts).



The bar was just the same as any other bar Laura’d been in on this stupid road trip, nothing the least bit different about it compared to the last. Same smoke Laura could barely smell, same beer that tasted like a drunk had pissed out nothing at all, same patrons who were as grungy and unhappy as the man sitting across from her.

The music was maybe a little different. More of a country twang. Annoying to Laura’s ears, which were, strangely, more sensitive now that she was dead. Not fair when everything tasted like shit and she could barely see except for the stupid, blinding light that was Shadow, tooling off on his own with Wednesday, who, from what Sweeney’s said, wasn’t such a great guy to begin with. Given how she’d had to save Shadow almost immediately after they’d hooked up, she was inclined to agree with Sweeney.

Not that she’d admit it to him. He was already an arrogant asshole. Too tall and weirdly attractive for his own good, but prone to talking Laura’s ear off. She hoped not literally, but considering the precariousness of her situation, it wasn’t the most impossible thing that could happen to her right now.

“The fuck are you looking at, Ginger Minge?” she asked, tipping her head up slightly and brushing her hair over her shoulders. It was growing dry and brittle no matter how much conditioner she used on it. She was at the point of trying a hot oil treatment, but was afraid of what it might do to her scalp. Frowning, she refused to think about it any more. Instead, she let a smile cross her mouth and hoped Sweeney would actually fuck off. She didn’t want him looking at her as considering as he was. It made her nervous.

It made her want things she didn’t want to want. Hell, she didn’t even know what it would feel like at this point. Terrible, probably. Everything else did.

“You, dead wife,” Sweeney answered, far too pleased with himself. He was sucking down his third SoCo and coke. Drinking it through a straw even, like an annoying, alcoholic child. His smile was equally childish and mischievous. She didn’t like it. Not least of all because Salim wasn’t here to temper his dumber impulses with rationality. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

There were a lot of things Laura could do, starting with ripping his spine out of his back and moving onto more creative uses of her power, but she didn’t say any of it. Instead, she just glared at him, sullen, and crossed her arms. “Well, stop it. You’re being a fucking creep.”

That just made him waggle his eyebrows, doing nothing to undermine her assertion that he was a creep. Even so, a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, one she didn’t want him to see. There weren’t enough goofs in her life. Most of the men were assholes or they were Shadow, who was both stifling and far too good for her, not the sort of people she wanted to hang out with. And sure, Sweeney was an asshole, too, but it was different with him. It was a relief, at least, that she didn’t think he was stifling or particularly worthy of her attentions. It somehow made it easier for her to give them to him, to want to give them to him.

She might’ve been the living embodiment of a nightmare, but she couldn’t say she wasn’t having fun giving him a hard time.

“Whatever you say,” he replied, laconic, his accent giving the words a pleasant weight. He sucked down the rest of his drink and long after, the sound of the straw pulling in air and ice chips grating against her ears.

The song changed over to something vaguely familiar and entirely new, the fate of dusty jukebox songs everywhere, cuts so deep that only the regulars knew about them or cared. Soft, twangy guitar. A soulful, warbling voice. Laura didn’t know the song, not really, but she could have recited it from memory if asked.

She hated it already.

And then Sweeney, about as graceful as a bag full of rocks, climbed to his feet and held out his hand. “Good song, this,” he said. His fingers wiggled, as enticing as such a thing could be given how crooked they were, how persistently banged up. It made her wonder if they were always like that or if it really was just him being down on his luck. They looked broken, swollen. She didn’t want to take his hand. Or rather, she didn’t want to want to take his hand.

There were better things she could be doing. Mostly they involved sitting here and brooding, but Sweeney didn’t need to know that. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I happen to be a world-class dancer,” he said, affronted. His other hand splayed across his chest, equally bruised, busted, and bent out of shape. A few dirty bandages, small, smudged strips of white, were wrapped around them. “You’d be lucky to dance with me.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. “I highly doubt that.”

“It’s true.” His upper body weaved a bit, every inch of him attempting to be cajoling as he leaned toward her. “I can show you if you’d like.”

“It seems to me you’re the one who’d like to show me. Why should I do you any favors here?”

“Because it’s fun and we’re here. And because I’m drunk and you’re not the worst company I’ve ever been around. And I feel like dancing.” He held his wounded hand out to her and hardly seemed to notice he should’ve been hurting like a motherfucker, all his luck ran dry. “Live a little, dead wife.”

“Fuck you,” Laura replied, because what a dick move that was, saying something like that to a corpse. And yet, she couldn’t stop the laugh that climbed her throat and clawed its way into the world, unwanted and unbidden, a surprise even to her. That it made Sweeney beam, triumphant, only made her curse her failing body all the more. That it made him even more attractive to her was an even greater curse. What a bastard. He wasn’t even that cute. “I hate to dance.”

“All the more reason then.” His accent went broad and appealing and Laura could see him doing a lot of damage to her heart if she let him.

Her heart always got her into trouble. Good thing it wasn’t pumping any longer. Otherwise she might’ve done something even more stupid than take his hand. She hoped the cold of it burned him. But when she looked at him, she didn’t see anything in his eyes that suggested he even noticed. How lucky for him. “Ah, that’s more like it.”

He pulled her to her feet and drew her close. The only reason she allowed it at all was because they weren’t the only pair swaying to the music. No, there were a few other sets of sad, lonely fuckers out there also making fools of themselves.

“See,” he said, “that’s not so bad, is it?”

It was worse, she didn’t think, but almost said anyway. Something stopped her tongue though. She couldn’t feel him exactly, not the way she could still feel Shadow, like the sun, always there in her peripheral vision, but he was the warmest thing she’d been near to in a long, long time.

A part of her wanted to press her cheek to his chest, listen to him breath, sentimental bullshit that she didn’t even like doing when she was alive.

What was it about being dead that made her soft?

She hid a grimace by turning her head away and focused on the far wall behind Sweeney’s swaying shoulder. Perhaps if he looked, he’d be able to see it, but he was being more gentlemanly than she expected and kept his gaze averted.

It was strange, she noticed, that he only mostly smelled like a rusted-out still, alcohol being one of the only scents that still managed to get through the haze of death that surrounded her in moldy cotton wool.

“Come on,” he said, cajoling, pressing his shoulder toward her just a little bit. “You can admit it. You’re having fun.”

Swallowing, she closed her eyes. It wasn’t any of his business what she felt. “I’m really not.”

If she were alive, her heart might have stuttered and jumped as he squeezed her hand a little more tightly. “Uh huh. I believe you totally and irrevocably. That is the absolute truth coming out of your mouth, I’m sure. No fun at all. That’s you right down to the Y-shaped incision in your chest. Tell me, did they put the fun back into you after they cut you up or is it all just a plastic bag of junk sitting in your stomach?”

It was a very good thing Laura couldn’t blush anymore. And it was an even better thing that she knew about discretion. Otherwise, she might have offered a few choice words at that. They would’ve been very cutting, very good words, but definitely might have given the game away. “You’re disgusting.”

He quirked a smile at her and said nothing else. It was nicer that way, she pretended, and savored the silence for as long as she would have it. Knowing Sweeney, it wouldn’t be long.

“Perhaps I am,” he answered finally, so low the words were almost lost to the sound of the music and the murmurings of the other patrons.

There was another pause.

“But I think you like it,” he finished.

But just because he said it didn’t mean she had to acknowledge it.

So she didn’t.

“Just keep dancing, Lucky Charms.”

And so he did.


End file.
